Black Mists of Early Spring

It's time to get acquainted with death.

The world fell asleep forgetting love.

I am extinguishing myself in the midst

of nightmares that will not be replaced

by a tamed thought or a lullaby

whose words and melody are known

only to the local soulmaker.

The life-giving star, filled with milk,

turns into darkness, rolling down

the highest mountain of the doomed.

I plunge into the abyss of abandoned faith,

I am filled with a trivial longing which,

instead of utopia, brings cursed time.

I wrap myself tightly in the black mists

of early spring, which fell before I handed

the key to the homeless man.

Carried by the emerald-green rush

of memory, I drift against the current

of a river that has been deprived of a source

polluted by your azure blood.

Don't play with your life without knowing

the light that I could give you on the occasion

of your thirty years of childhood.

Do not trust farewell letters stolen

with permission from the abyss of a cupboard.

Don't trust disembodied nights

that end faster than the goddamn morning.

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

The world fell asleep forgetting love...
Yes, the world has forgotten love. And darkness waits to consume it. Dark thoughts, my friend, dark thoughts.